


Excuses

by Ailette



Category: Sexy Zone
Genre: Imported, M/M, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-14
Updated: 2013-01-14
Packaged: 2018-06-05 06:05:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6692578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ailette/pseuds/Ailette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One second, he’s singing and dancing; the next he’s lying on the stage.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Excuses

It happens in the blink of an eye. One second, he’s singing and dancing; the next he’s lying on the stage, microphone having rolled out of his hand and his vision swimming, staff and his group mates hovering over him. He dimly notices that Fuma, who is directly in his field of vision, is the only one who doesn’t just look worried. He looks angry. And that just isn’t fair; he doesn’t even know what happened.

“What-” he croaks and winces at the sound of his own voice. It hadn’t sounded that bad just before.

Someone helps him sit up and presses a water bottle into his hand – or maybe it’s two different people, the world is still too hazy for him to tell.

“You just collapsed, suddenly,” someone says and Kento carefully turns his head to see that it’s Shori, looking deathly pale. Even his voice is trembling.

_Oh_ , Kento thinks, and strangely feels guilty. His eyes slowly wander, searching for Marius and Sou, who have completely forgotten about their earlier fight, hands clasped tightly together as they stare at Kento, eyes wide with shock. They shouldn’t have seen this. They’re supposed to think of him and Fuma as strong and reliable; invincible.

Trying to control the damage, he forces a smile onto his face and sets the water bottle aside before he tries to get to his feet. Several hands shoot out to keep him down, but he manages a weak chuckle as he says,

“No, it’s alright. I’m fine.”

The hands recede hesitatingly and, embarrassingly slowly, with spots dancing in front of his eyes, he finally stands on his own two feet again. He tries to blink the spots away, but they only get worse, so instead he focuses on taking some deep, labored breaths to stay upright. It’s all for nothing if he keels right over again.

Suddenly, a hand is on the small of his back, pressing into him and when he glances sideways, he finds Fuma next to him. The younger boy shoots him a quick glare, his hand moving  so he can support Kento slightly before he turns back to the room to announce,

“That’s what happens when you stumble over your own two feet.” He turns his head back to Kento, but is still speaking loudly enough for everyone to hear. “Let’s get you over to some chairs to see if you broke anything.”

Kento breathes a sigh of relief, his smile real this time as he lets Fuma help him backstage. They both know that his feet are perfectly alright, but it’s the ideal excuse to not worry anyone further. His eyes flutter closed the second he sits down again, eyes heavy.

“Don’t move.”

The concept of moving seems ridiculously demanding to him at the moment, so he doesn’t even bother answering. He listens to Fuma’s footsteps as he walks away and after a few moments he has to force his eyes back open to fight off the sudden wave of dizziness and nausea that hits him.

He tries not to wonder if he hit his head badly just now and instead watches Fuma walk over to some of the staff, talking to them in what seems a hurried and hushed way. His eyes are darting back to Kento on the chairs, over to where the rest of their group is standing, whispering among themselves. Finally, Shori steps away and walks over to Fuma who quickly wraps up his explanation to the staff to turn to the younger boy.

Kento doesn’t know what they’re saying, but from the way Fuma leads Shori away a few more steps before gently slinging his arm across his shoulder, he knows that his friend is explaining the situation. It makes something stir in him, something feeling like betrayal, because he thought Fuma understood that he didn’t want the younger ones to know.

But then Shori nods, once, expression set as Fuma claps his shoulder. When he walks back over to Marius and Sou, he’s gesturing for them to start rehearsing again. It makes him feel oddly proud for a moment as he watches the three of them get back to work, even though they still look a little shaken.

“Nakajima.”

With difficulty, he drags his eyes back to find Fuma already hovering over him, glaring again. He doesn’t like it when Fuma calls him by his last name with that tone; it makes them appear like strangers. So he croaks out,

“Fuma-tan,”

with a weak smile in return. He’s in trouble already; can’t make it much worse with taunting.

And indeed, Fuma only huffs, but doesn’t comment on it as he squats slightly so he’s eye to eye with Kento. “Rehearsal’s over for you. I’m going to bring you to the dressing room.”

Kento starts protesting immediately, even leaning forward and upsetting his precarious balance in his vehemence to make Fuma understand that he wants to, _needs to_ , stay here. That he’ll be better in just a few minutes and they can continue properly.

But Fuma’s having none of it, shaking his head. When Kento doesn’t stop arguing, he suddenly reaches out, resting a hand on Kento’s cheek and that, that makes Kento freeze, mouth still opened slightly, mid-sentence.

“You’re exhausted. I don’t know why you thought it would be a good idea to push yourself like this, but you’re clearly sick.” His voice is soft and gentle and Kento feels his resistance rapidly dying down. As they are, Fuma must be able to feel the way his skin is burning – his fever definitely hadn’t gone down after he’d checked it before breakfast.

“You’re not helping anyone by working yourself to death. We need you healthy.” Fuma pauses, gently brushing back a stray strand of hair from Kento’s face. “I need you to take care of yourself.”

They both know that when Fuma is like this with him, speaking softly, touching him, being altogether too nice- that he gets weak in the knees and can’t refuse him anything. They both know, even though his crush on Fuma is supposed to be a secret.

Only that might be the wrong word; there have been too many kisses stolen backstage, in secluded rooms, when it was just the two of them, too many whispered words of affection for either of them to pretend not to know what’s going on.

And so Kento finds himself inclining his head in agreement and Fuma smiles at him before pulling his hand away to help Kento get back up. He immediately starts shaking, though, and has to hold onto Fuma in order not to collapse back onto the chair.

“Just a second,” Fuma mutters and Kento blinks when his hold is gone but it really is just a second before strong arms lift him right off the ground and with a slight adjustment, he’s suddenly being held to Fuma’s chest.

He can feel his cheeks rapidly heating up as he realizes just how Fuma is holding him and his voice is a little too high for comfort as he protests, “I can walk! I was still dancing a few minutes ago!”

Fuma only tsks at him though as he begins walking, adjusting his grip on Kento slightly so he can’t fall. “And we saw how well that ended for you. Let me warn you: I’m going to drop you on your ass and not be sorry if you struggle, because it’ll be your own damned fault.”

Kento whines weakly, but he doesn’t really have any energy to struggle, anyway. They make it halfway down the hallway, with Fuma muttering time and again that he’s way too light before a member of staff passes them and Kento hides his burning face in Fuma’s chest.

Somehow, Fuma manages to get him into the green room, onto the couch and under both his and Fuma’s coats (there’re no blankets to use) without too much trouble. He’s sweating slightly and still looking a strange cross between mad and worried when he puts another water bottle right beside him, so Kento asks him to go back to rehearsal. At least one of them should be there and it will also be easier for him to catch up on what he’s missed when Fuma gets his instructions directly.

After Fuma, still grumbling, shuts the door behind him, Kento finally allows his eyes to close and drops off into blissful unconsciousness.

 

 

Apparently he sleeps through the rest of rehearsal and everyone else leaving before Fuma wakes him up. His eyes still feel heavy and his head is pounding so he refuses to move at all at first, until Fuma sighs and manhandles him into a sitting position at least. The manhandling continues until Fuma has put a jacket and a scarf (that isn’t his) on him, helped him into his boots and then to his feet. The world is swaying violently and he automatically reaches out for something to hold on to.

He’s only faintly aware of the walk to the van and quickly falls back asleep with Fuma’s warmth right next to him.

 

 

The next time he opens his eyes, it takes him a moment to realize that he’s back in their hotel room, tucked underneath what appear to be at least three blankets and when he slowly turns his head, he finds Fuma on the other bed, the only thing visible in the dark room thanks to the light of his cellphone. But Fuma was supposed to room with Sou and Shori and he…

“Where’s Marius?”

His voice is barely more than a whisper, but it’s enough to make Fuma look up and frown at him. “We switched rooms.”

“Oh,” Kento says and then tries to crane his neck for the nightstand before he gives up and just asks, “What time is it?”

Fuma looks back down onto the illuminated screen in his hands. “A little after midnight.”

Kento opens his mouth, just to let out another soft and surprised, _oh_ , but Fuma isn’t finished yet. The blue-ish light paints shadows on his face and beneath his eyes that make him look much older than he is.

“You slept for almost ten hours. Not counting the time you slept during the car ride or in the green room.”

Kento closes his eyes.

“When’s the last time you got a full night worth of sleep?”

It’s almost funny that Fuma sounds scariest when he’s actually worried. The kids had been thrown off by it at first; he remembers Marius shrinking into himself when Fuma had suddenly started yelling at him after he’d almost fallen off the moving platform because he hadn’t been paying attention. Kento hadn’t thought that this voice would be directed at him again after they debuted.

“Nakajima,” Fuma growls from the other bed and Kento winces, glad that he’s probably mostly hidden from view in the dark.

“You know how busy we are at the moment,” he says reproachfully. “You complain about not getting enough sleep all the time!”

He doesn’t mention that while, yes, Fuma also complains, he obviously catches up on sleep every chance he gets – be it during the drive to or from work or in the quietest corner he can find during breaks. Kento on the other hand just tries to go completely without; staying up to finish a paper, squeezing in another hour of piano practice, memorizing his script, learning new lyrics.

“Yes, but I’m not the one who _fainted on stage_.”

“Well, it looks like I caught a cold or something so you can’t blame me for that,” Kento snarls back, getting defensive even though he knows the other boy is right.

“Well,” Fuma repeats mockingly in the exact same tone of voice. “If you took better care of yourself that wouldn’t have happened!”

They glare at each other across the room, neither willing to budge until Fuma’s cellphone screen turns itself off and they’re left in complete darkness. It seems pointless to continue when they can’t even see each other, so Kento just huffs and buries himself deeper into his mountain of blankets. He doesn’t feel all that tired anymore, but his head is still throbbing and his whole body feels sore, which might also have something to do with his crash landing on stage this morning, so staying where he is seems like a good idea.

He wonders what Fuma is doing, because he’d still been in his street clothes and his phone remains switched off. Is he just sitting there, glaring in Kento’s direction? Come to think of it, he must have been sitting there for a while if he switched rooms with Marius. The kids have a strict curfew and Fuma wouldn’t have snuck into what was now their room at night to break it. Nervously, Kento starts fidgeting. The thought of Fuma watching over him while he was out cold doing funny things to his heart.

“…were you here the entire time?” he finally asks, quietly.

Fuma’s only answer is an annoyed huff at first, before he mutters, “Was I supposed to leave you alone?”

He still sounds irritated, but also somewhat exhausted and the combination makes Kento ignore his body’s protests and turn on his side to face the younger boy even when he can’t make out much more than his outline.

“Thank you.”

He heard more than saw Fuma getting up from his position, taking the few steps to halt next to Kento’s bed and gracefully kneel down on the floor there. Like this, he was almost at eye-level with Kento, his features much better visible at the short distance. Fuma rested one arm on the mattress to rest his chin on it and reached out with the other to softly run it through Kento’s hair.

“You should have told me that you weren’t feeling well,” Fuma said and sounded disappointed rather than still angry. “We could’ve figured something out to let you rest more in-between so it wouldn’t have had to come to this.”

Kento fully leaned into Fuma’s touch, fleeting as it was. He always treasured even the smallest moment of intimacy between them, since they were so very hard to come by. Because making out behind costume racks still high on adrenalin after a performance was one thing, but Fuma’s long fingers steadily running through his hair to finally slide down to cup Kento’s cheek like this felt entirely different. There was no excuse for it, other than the obvious.

“I don’t like making you worry.”

Fuma sighed. “I know. You don’t like making _anyone_ worry about you. But it’s not like you can influence how others feel, anyway.”

Kento nodded slightly, making Fuma’s hand rub against his cheek in the process. What Fuma was saying was clear enough for him _. I worry about you, anyway_. He wonders if he should apologize, but it doesn’t feel like Fuma wants an apology from him. Instead, he says,

“I’ll tell you next time.”

“There better not be a next time of something like this,” Fuma warns, sternly, but his fingers carefully brush back a stray strand of hair behind Kento’s ear before he gets back up and his fingers only linger for a second longer before they vanish.

Kento doesn’t want him to move away even a step, but doesn’t say anything. This… thing between them, whatever it may be, he doesn’t know how far he can push or pull yet. Everything is changing so slowly that half the time he’s not even sure if someone else were around, Fuma wouldn’t be pulling them into secluded corners after getting off-stage. But then there are little moments like this, when there’s really only one reason to be together the way they are.

Fuma hasn’t moved away yet, still just standing there and looking down at him thoughtfully. Like he’s waiting for something.

“You know,” Kento starts hesitatingly, voice starting to sound a little rough and he knows he’s going to feel the full effects of this cold soon enough, even without overexerting himself. “I wouldn’t mind if you kissed me right now.”

He sees Fuma’s lips twitch into a smile and has to grin a little himself. The younger boy tsks through his smile.

"Not gonna happen.”

Kento blinks. “What?”

He doesn’t have time to dwell on it though, because Fuma is chuckling as he leans down to press a fleeting kiss to the top of Kento’s head. “You’ll have to ask again once you’re no longer contagious. Because unlike certain other people, I know how to avoid catching a cold.”

Kento is tempted to throw one of his pillows at Fuma’s smug face, but moving still seems like too much of an effort, so he just sticks his tongue out, feeling like they’re not qualified to be called the mature half of their group when Fuma mirrors the action.

Fuma finally clambers back into his own bed, facing the wall as he pulls his own blanket up even though he’s still in his street clothes. It occurs to Kento that Fuma had probably forgotten to take his stuff along when he switched rooms with Marius, forgetful as he tended to be. The thought makes him smile again.

“Fuma,” he whispers, because the other boy has been known to fall asleep in five seconds flat. When there’s a grunt from the other bed, he says, “I will, you know.”

“Mh?” There’s some more rustling as Fuma turns around. “What?”

“I will ask again.”

**Author's Note:**

> (Originally posted at http://ailette.livejournal.com/77763.html)


End file.
